Cyryl kicks open the door to the office, making everyone’s ears perk, then Tymon marches in with Cassandra in tow. He puts his fingers to his lips and whistles sharply. “Everyone! Get over here.”
Cyryl has his hands on his hips, with his chin up. He’s conveying a sense of confidence that he doesn’t really believe.
Tymon has his hands crossed and his brow narrowed. If he was a foot taller, he would actually look quite intimidating.
Cassandra’s war face has been completely wiped away. She’s shaking, her eyes are rounded, her ears are angled down submissively, and she’s failing to hide behind her boyfriend. Her hands are gripping his shoulders, and she’s trying to make herself look smaller, even though it’s impossible to hide.
As their coworkers come forward, there’s a general chuckle that spreads through them.
“Really, Tymon? You brought your girlfriend to try and intimidate us?”
In principle, it’s not a bad strategy. Everyone knows that women are insane and can be shockingly violent in the right circumstances. The problem with this specific instance of that strategy is that everyone has seen Cassandra around the office over the past six years, and nobody believes she’s personally capable of it. Far too meek and shy, many would barely consider her a peldak.
“No,” Tymon says, “I brought my girlfriend to beat the tar out of you if you step out of line. I’m going to teach all of you how to do math, and then you’ll be doing more work. No more choosing your own schedules, no more crying, none of it. If you have a problem,” he points his thumb over his shoulder and taps Cassandra’s forearm.
The crowd pauses for a moment, then they turn to Urban.
Urban is about as tall as Cassandra, and is the lynchpin of the bureaucrats defense against having to work harder. He strokes his long, unkempt beard, “I don’t… really want to fight her to be honest. It’s kind of sick that you’re forcing her into this, actually.”
Cyryl raises his chin and looks down his nose at Urban, “so you’ll be a good little convict and do the work you’ve been sentenced to do?”
Urban sighs, glances at Cassandra’s terrified face, then looks to Tymon. “You’re really pushing it?”
He shrugs. “I’ve laid out the situation, you decide how it goes from here.”
Daria speaks up, “Cassandra, you’re fine with this too?”
“I-I…” Her unblinking, doe-like eyes wash over everyone in the crowd. “I stand… stand by Tymon.” She nods unconvincingly.
Urban glances to his fellow bureaucrats. A sharp sense of discomfort is present on all their faces.
“I don’t…” Klem rubs the back of his neck, “I don’t really want to see you beat her up either.”
Everyone in the crowd murmurs and grunts in agreement.
One of the women shrugs, “but I also really don’t want to do more paperwork.”
The crowd then grunts in agreement with that.
“If you think about it,” one of the men says, “you only have to beat her up once. Not doing that means we’ll have to do paperwork forever.”
That cinches it in the eyes of everyone. Though, none of them realize that if Tymon fails, his boss will replace him with someone who can and beat them into shape.
“If I have to,” Urban puts his hands on his hips, “then I have to.” His eyes are sharp, with his brow tight, staring straight at Cassandra. Her eyes are rounded, her pupils constricted, and she can’t return his gaze.
Cassandra tightens her grip on Tymon’s shoulders, nearly squeezing hard enough to dislocate them. It takes a great deal of effort for the pain to not show on his face.
In peldak culture, Cassandra is pathetic. Someone of her height shouldn’t be so scared of Urban, and trying to hide behind a man two feet shorter than her is absurd. Tymon is fundamentally more respectable, since at least he’s physically unable to fight. Cyryl is a true peldak, since he would have gone into the ring with Urban had Tymon not talked sense into him, even though it was a fight he couldn’t win.
Nobody can look at Cassandra and not feel some mixture of pity, disgust, and secondhand embarrassment. It’s no wonder why Cassy was a leftover woman.
It’s similar to how people look at Tymon, though at least he had some tragic circumstance of birth and isn’t just a wimp.
“How about,” Urban says, trying to figure some way out of this, “you just punch me once and we get it over with? A free hit. If you can’t knock me down, that settles it.
“I-I, I could- I could do that…” Cassandra whimpers.
“It won’t go well for you,” Cyryl says to Urban, lying like a cirathan. “You might not be able to tell from looking at her demeanor, but hidden within that giant body is 700 pounds of pure, super refined muscle, capable of lifting several tons. Who knows how much she could punch! I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see what she could do, but since we’re friends, it’d be better for you if you just accepted your punishment in the bureaucracy.”
Peldaks typically aren’t good at detecting lies, and the only thing unreasonable about what he said is that he’s talking about Cassandra. Tymon has to nod since, like most peldaks, he isn’t capable of lying through his teeth.
“Cassy,” Tymon says.
“Y-yes?” Her ears perk.
“Hit him.” His voice is steady and firm, despite his lack of confidence.
“Hit… him.”
He nods. “One hit, right in the sternum, knock him flat on his ass.”
Urban, now no longer having to punch back, starts laughing. It’s an infectious laugh from the gut which spreads to the rest of the crowd. Even Cyryl chuckles a little from how absurd relying on Cassandra is.
“O-o-oh… okay.”
Cassandra takes a deep breath, then steps out from behind her boyfriend. Eyes twitching, lips pursed, and arms shaking, she slowly marches across the carpeted floor.
“Try not to break your wrist, haha!” One girl says.
“Show us that ‘hidden strength’ Cyryl mentioned, ha!” A man yells.
The taunts keep coming until Cassandra is face to face with her target. They should be around the same size, but Urban is standing tall, his hands behind his back, while Cassandra is hunched forward.
“Y-you… you aren’t going to hit me back?” Cassandra raises her shaky arms.
Urban rolls his eyes. “You’re that afraid of getting hurt? No. I promise I won’t. I just want to go back to my cubicle and suffer through the next 50 years without fuss.”
She nods, then clenches her fists, staring at his chest. The crowd of bureaucrats can’t stop giggling, while Tymon is busy thinking up what to try next when this fails. Cyryl has his arms crossed and at least looks like he has confidence in her.
Cassandra reels her right arm back, then spares a glance to Urban’s face before her eyes are cast back down to his broad, muscular chest. Her biceps and shoulder flexes, then she clenches her teeth as she launches her fist forward, twisting her back to give that extra oomph to her blow!
Her knuckles tap against his chest, and his brow flickers from a sharp sting.
The force of her punch could rip through a small tree, break open a wooden door, or pierce the ribcage and spine of any alien. But most peldaks could do that, so it isn’t impressive. Even Cyryl wouldn’t have been knocked out from that hit, let alone a man like Urban.
Cassy pulls her fist back and her face tightens. She’s preparing for a retaliatory punch that never comes.
But as soon as Urban snorts, everyone starts laughing. Cassy’s face turns red, and her ears flap in distress as centuries worth of embarrassing memories come flooding back. She quickly scurries back to Tymon, who quickly pats her girl on the lower back.
“S-sorry…”
Tymon keeps a calm face, “it’s fine, it’s fine. It was a bad plan anyway, sorry for asking in the first place.”
“Wait-wait-wait, that was a practice hit!” Cyryl shouts as he marches over to Cassandra and Tymon. “Come here,” he grabs Cassandra’s hand and pulls her along, to which she offers no resistance. He brings her behind one of the many cubicles, then grabs her shoulder and pulls her down so her head isn’t poking over the top.
“S-sorry…”
“Forget about it, it’s fine. Listen, you need to hit him again.”
“Wh-what? But I already failed. I punched him as hard as I could.”
“No, your spirit wasn’t in it. You need to give a bit more oomph, understand?”
“I-I-“
Cyryl puts a finger over her lips and brings his voice down to a whisper, “listen, Cassandra…” Cyryl thinks for a moment. “You didn’t hear this from me, okay?” He turns his head left and right, to make sure the coast is clear, and Cassy slowly looks left and right as well. “Tymon…” He pauses for a moment to find the right sequence of words. “Why do you think Tymon hasn’t married you yet?” He removes his finger from her lips so she can talk.
Her ears dip and her eyelids droop, she turns pallid. “Probably because he’s embarrassed about having such a meek girl like me around, and his charity only extends so far. I can’t fight, I can’t hold my head tall, I couldn’t even carry a real conversation until like a year in, I blah blah blah-“
Cyryl’s eyes glaze over and he quietly sighs.
For all this talk of being shy, he’s never seen it when it’s just the two of them. Women, for some reason, just feel comfortable running their mouths when it comes to Cyryl.
“-and blah blah- blah, he blah blah- with blah- can’t blah blah blah-“
Cyryl brings his hand up to cover Cassandra’s mouth. “Yeah, okay. None of that is the reason. So, you didn’t hear this from me, by Tymon is going to marry you.”
Her cheeks blush and her ears perk, but Cyryl’s hand prevents a girly squeak from escaping her lips.
“But here’s the thing, he’s stuck here. In this job. He basically does half the work himself. More than half, since he checks everyone’s math at the end of the day, and often comes in at the end of the month. If he were to marry you, that would necessarily include going off on a honeymoon somewhere,” Cassandra’s ears flutter gently. “But that means there’d be no one here to do his work.” Her ears stop fluttering. “So, you know why he’s suddenly trying to make everyone pull their weight in the department? It’s so… if Tymon has to leave work for a few months, he needs to know that the logistics of the Protectorate won’t immediately fall apart. But, of course, these convicts don’t want to work. Since Urban is so strong, he’s preventing any sort of disciplinary action from taking place. He’s preventing the department from carrying their weight.” Cyryl smiles, “so, think about this. Big picture, what happens if you punch Urban and knock him out?”
Cyryl removes his hand from her mouth, and Cassandra takes a moment to think. She knows the answer, but excitement and adrenaline courses through her veins, making it harder to find the words. “If I punch Urban… Tymon proposes.”
Cyryl puts his hands on Cassandra’s shoulders, “exactly. So, when you go back out there, remember that. For the sake of you, of Tymon, of your marriage and all your future children. The rest of your life is riding on this. One. Punch.”
Her body trembles, and her brow tightens. She takes a few deep breaths, but she can’t calm down. She’s amped up, ready to go and fight for her happiness.
“So, you’re going to go out there, and do what?”
“Hit him,” she says with a rare bit of confidence.”
“No, no. What are you going to do?”
She tightens her fist, “I’m going to break his ribcage.”
“Exactly!” Cyryl slaps her shoulders and turns her around, pushing her out from behind the cubicle. “Now get to it!”
She stands up straight, chin up and bottom lip quivering. There’s still a certain amount of fear, especially since all eyes are on her, but it’s slightly subdued thanks to the promise of marriage.
Cyryl follows her around the cubicle, but breaks off and stands next to Tymon. Everyone backs up from Urban to give him room, and they’re taunting Cassandra as she marches closer.
Tymon watches his girlfriend. “What, uh… what did you say to her? She turned the corner and winked at me.”
“Nothing to worry about. Unless if she wins, I mean.”
“What happens if she wins?”
“Do you have a wedding ring planned?”
Tymon’s ears perk, but there’s no time to speak. Cassandra reels back her arm.
Cassandra isn’t a trained fighter, as rare as that is for a peldak. She doesn’t know any special martial arts techniques, or how to most effectively throw a punch. All she knows is how to use her God-given brute strength, which she’s cultivated by decades of gym membership. At first it was to make her look her best, trying to cover her crippling lack of social skills, but she ended up liking the physical activity. Plus, it made her slightly more intimidating while standing guard at the port.
She leans back on her right foot, with her hips facing the side like a pitcher ready to whing a ball at 200 miles per hour. Her back is arched, she’s looking away to preserve some of her courage by avoiding eye contact. Her arm is bent, ready to be flung around in an arch and smash into Urban’s chest like a piston. Though her arms are covered in long sleeves, the fabric is noticeably tighter around her flexed bicep and forearm, with a prominent vein on the back of her fist.
In the second or two it takes for her to charge her punch, nobody laughs, least of all Urban.
Nobody knows quite what Cyryl said to her to psyche her up, but now she’s bringing her giant peldak strength to bare.
Then, in a blur similar to watching a large iron ball shoot out of a cannon, all the pent-up energy in Cassandra’s body is released. A brutal spin of her torso, a wonderful arch to her fist. The sound of her left foot smashing against the floor is like a gunshot, and she even dents the reinforced floor. Urban doesn’t look away, nor does he go back on his word and put his hands up for a defense. He promised to give her a free shot to his chest, and that’s what he’ll allow.
Except, she doesn’t hit his chest.
Either she misses on accident, or the blood rage of possibly being denied Tymon’s proposal takes over her mind. It’s impossible to tell, but the end result is that her fist smashes straight into Urban’s face.
A true sucker punch. All his front teeth are knocked loose and shattered, his jaw cracks, his nose breaks, and his head whips back fast enough to give him a concussion thanks to his brains slapping against the inside of his skull.
He’s thrown back, and his large, heavy body rips through the reinforced wall of a cubicle. Landing on the desk and pinching the metal frame, forming a V shape with him in the middle, train manifests and resource requests fluttering.
Cassandra’s body is violently trembling, but she straightens her back and forces herself to speak. “A-all of you…” Her cheeks puff and deflate, her eyes dart to everyone, and her lips are shaking from the adrenaline, joy, and a dozen aborted attempts to speak. Finally, she brings her bloody fist up, “I’ll punch all of you if you don’t listen to Tymon!”
They get the message, and Cassandra rushes over to give her man a hug.
“Kyagh!” The air in Tymon’s lungs is forcefully squeezed out, and he tries to pat his soon-to-be fiancée’s back.
Cyryl, arms behind his back, steps forward with a smug smile and looks to Urban’s unconscious body. “Klem!”
The convict perks up.
“Grab his other arm, we need to bring him to the hospital.”